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The Lowly Starling

Much maligned as a pest and cursed by many as an "invasive species," the European Starling has had many fans, too. Eugene Schieffelin introduced about 50 pairs into the United States in the 1890s. And Rachel Carson noted that the starling carries "more than 100 loads of destructive insects per day to his screaming offspring.'' No less a figure than Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart kept a pet European Starling and wrote a poem* about it when it died.

BirdNote®

The Lowly Starling

Written by Ellen Blackstone

This is BirdNote!

Consider the lowly starling. [Squawks of a starling]

Much maligned as a pest and cursed by many as an “invasive species,” the European Starling has had many fans, too. Eugene Schieffelin thought enough of the starling—or of Shakespeare—to introduce about 50 pairs into the United States in the 1890s. Schieffelin attempted to bring all of the birds mentioned in Shakespeare’s plays into this country.

Rachel Carson, author of Silent Spring, said of the starling: ''In spite of his remarkable success as a pioneer, the starling probably has fewer friends than almost any other creature that wears feathers.” But she also noted that he carries: “more than 100 loads of destructive insects per day to his screaming offspring.'' [Squawks of a starling]

No less a figure than Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart kept a pet starling. The story goes that while Mozart was rehearsing his Piano Concerto #17 in G, the bird began whistling along. The composer liked the bird’s contribution so much that he actually wrote it into the concerto’s grace notes. [Lines with grace notes from 3rd movement behind]

And when Mozart’s beloved starling died, he wrote a poem* about it. You can read it when you come to our website, BirdNote.org. I’m Michael Stein.

*A little fool lies hereWhom I held dear—A starling in the primeOf his brief timeWhose doom it was to drainDeath's bitter pain.Thinking of this, my heartIs riven apart.Oh reader! Shed a tear,You also, here.He was not naughty, quite,But gay and bright,And under all his bragA foolish wag.This no one can gainsayAnd I will layThat he is now on high,And from the sky,Praises me without payIn his friendly way.Yet unaware that deathHas choked his breath,And thoughtless of the oneWhose rime is thus well done.